


sweet gesture of your hand

by penelopes



Category: Men's Basketball RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Facials, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slutty Steph, Steph is Desperate for Dick, Sweaty Armpits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23707159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penelopes/pseuds/penelopes
Summary: In a way, he was right to think quarantining together would bring up some minor issues.What he didn't expect was the monumental, colossal, debilitating issue that would arise from being around Klay every second of the day. Rise, haha.
Relationships: Stephen Curry/Klay Thompson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 58





	sweet gesture of your hand

**Author's Note:**

> so this is inspired by an offhand comment i made about a [certain gif of klay](https://collarboen.tumblr.com/post/615599447798398976). i couldn't stop thinking about it, so i wrote this. here ya go!
> 
> please enjoy!
> 
> title from mary oliver's i don't want to lose

He worried maybe being trapped in a house with Klay for upwards of a month could only mean trouble in the long run. There's a difference between staying at Klay’s house four nights out of the week because he's closer to the corner bakery Steph loves so much and it's just _practical_ to follow him home after practice or a game. But he figured it'd be different staying together for this entire quarantine, and now what seems to be for the foreseeable future.

He thought maybe seeing Klay’s dumb face 24/7 would get tiring after a while--and it has, in a way. That's why he's devoted 11 AM every morning to himself and occasionally Rocco, if he's down for a late morning walk. He figured they'd discover new ways to annoy each other. Klay drops his clothes off right _beside_ his hamper, and he sneaks Rocco dinner scraps, and he is always losing his phone in the couch cushions. Steph knows _he_ does stuff that annoys Klay, too, like leaving a dish in the sink when the dishwasher is right there and _empty._ Or how he answers emails in bed even after he promises to put his phone down.

He expected all of that, and frankly, he's glad to know that whatever honeymoon phase they've been in for the past six months has slowly turned into something more serious. Are you really in a happy, committed relationship if you can't call your partner out on their bullshit? 

That aside, they've been great. They're owning this quarantine. And Steph hasn't told Klay just yet, but he's happier to be home with him--to make a home with him--than he's ever been about anything else, maybe.

So, in a way, he was right to think quarantining together would bring up some minor issues. What he _didn't_ expect was the monumental, colossal, debilitating issue that would arise from being around Klay every second of the day. _Rise,_ haha.

The monumental, colossal, debilitating issue is that he wants to jump Klay’s bones twenty-three hours of the day. 

He wakes up and _smiles sleepily_ at Steph and Steph has to roll over on top of him and press into all his soft spots until he's hard and begging Steph to _do something._

They watch NBA Classic games in the den some nights, sprawled out across the sectional. It's fun to feel like you're experiencing a game from 1982 live. They get into it, bitching at the refs over bad calls, and appreciating ball handling. Klay, when he thinks a play was horribly executed, scoffs with distaste and yells at the players. It's cute, to see him riled up like that about an almost forty year old game. More than that, though, is the tone his voice takes--hard, displeased, and judgemental. Steph wants Klay to critique _his_ jump shot, tell him where he's messed up, tell Steph he's smart enough to know better. It's all very hot and enlightening. And Steph absolutely has to suck his dick because of it.

God, and then there are the times Klay swims laps in the pool while Steph sits on the edge with his legs dipped in. 

Klay loves the water more than Steph. Steph’s content to swim around a little and then bask in the sun until he dozes off. But Klay swims lap after lap, his long, lithe body making small waves every time he moves. Steph helplessly stares at the sun-kissed expanse of his back, glistening with water as he swims. The stamina he has to just keep going until the water tires him out. The focus he keeps during the entire swim, not even glancing Steph’s way. Steph's sprawled out, leaning back on his hands, just _watching_ and Klay doesn't even look back. 

It's so hot; all Steph wants is for Klay to stop, stand between Steph's legs, push him back on the hot concrete, and take him apart poolside. Or, pull him into the cold water and press him against the pool liner. Or, keep ignoring him until he's done with his exercise, until he drags himself out of the pool, skin glistening from the water and sunlight, looking like every wet dream Steph has ever had, and dries off, goes inside, and _keeps_ ignoring Steph until Steph's so full of want that he has to squeeze between Klay and the kitchen counter and _ask_ nicely for what he wants. And then Klay gives it to him so sweetly.

Steph wants him so bad, all the time, that he's stupid from it. Of course he's always wanted Klay like, emotionally, mentally, and physically. He's lost count of how many times Klay has fucked him up so well in all the ways that matter. He just didn't realize that being stuck in a house with him would reveal a million other ways he could want and have Klay.

-

Like:

When he's reading a recipe on his phone, walking around his kitchen opening and closing cabinets looking for each ingredient, Steph loves him so much he feels _sick_ from it. Klay makes turkey bolognese over angel hair pasta and Steph, like. Can only think about what an angel Klay is. And how he wants to run his fingers through his angel hair. He's dumb. He's so dumb, but it's not his fault. It's Klay's. He walks around with his big brain and his big body and his big dick and Steph, rightfully so, is just. So weak for him. For every bit of him.

-

Or:

Even when Steph’s politely encouraging him to just put his clothes in the hamper a foot to the right of where he tosses them, Steph still wants to fuck him. Klay's sitting on the bed, watching him fuss about it, and getting increasingly smirky watching Steph talk with his hands and flail his arms all about. It knocks the wind out of Steph's sails. He sighs, walking toward where Klay's perched on the edge of the bed. “You do it just to rile me up, don't you?”

Klay grabs him by the waist, his long fingers wrapping around Steph’s sides and pressing into the softness there. He sighs again, sweeter, and rests his arms on Klay's shoulders. Klay is still smirking up at him, pretty red mouth pursed and eyes hooded. The way he looks at Steph from under his lashes makes something stick in Steph’s throat. “Mhm,” Klay murmurs, rubbing small circles on Steph's stomach. Even through his t-shirt, it makes Steph shiver.

“Shit,” he breathes. Klay can do whatever he damn well pleases with his laundry. Steph leans down and kisses Klay desperately, full of yearning, like he hasn't kissed him in days. Klay's grip on his waist tightens, which makes Steph keen and press even closer. He brings his hands up to Klay’s hair and grabs a hold of his curls. They're so soft between his fingers, almost as soft as Klay’s mouth as he opens up for Steph.

He feels weak in the knees, which is nothing to fret over, as Klay pulls him back on the bed with him, anyway.

-

Or, like:

Klay is on a Very Important Business Call, pacing across his living room where Steph is trying to stream a church service. He keeps walking in front of the TV, and every time, Steph stops paying attention to what's happening on screen and focuses instead on Business Mode Klay whose voice drops an octave when he's talking about his ANTA contract or a new brand deal. He slips into the mode that most outsiders think is his real persona. Steph knows it's just one facet of his personality, and that he's grateful enough to know every side of Klay. And still discover new ones.

It's hot, though, this reserved business-savvy Klay who read the contract front to back and every fine line even though he has a lawyer to do that for him. Steph ought to be worshipping God, but instead, there's Klay making a pass behind the sofa, his deep voice making the hairs on the back of Steph's neck stand up. 

Interesting. The things he'd let Klay do to him. What he'd do for Klay.

Steph leans over the back of the couch and grabs at his wrist the next time he walks by. Klay stops, his phone is still pressed to his ear, but his focus is on Steph. His brows furrow questioningly. “Uh huh,” he says into the phone, still looking down at Steph. And that's. He didn't know that could do so much for him.

He nods toward the seat beside him and pulls gently on Klay's wrist. _Come sit with me_ , he doesn't say because Klay is on the phone and it would be rude to do a thing like that.

Klay relents, probably because. Well, Steph knows Klay's just as easy for him as he is for Klay. Simple as that.

Klay settles on the other half of the sofa, and Steph immediately folds himself up to fit comfortably against him. He's smaller than Klay, yeah, but he's not _tiny,_ so it takes effort to tuck himself under his arm, but he does it. Tucked up against him, he can feel every breath he takes. He can hear the conversation better; his agent’s saying something about the logistics of rescheduling his ANTA China tour. Klay hums and assents in all the right places, and Steph can feel the rumble of his voice when he speaks up.

He tries to pay attention to the church stream, he really does. But it's more interesting to play with Klay’s long fingers, measure the span of his hand against Steph's, to draw his nail across the thin skin of his palm. Klay jerks his hand back when he does that. Steph turns quickly to look up at him. Klay subtly shakes his head, but doesn't say anything. Oh _really?_ Steph's face must say. He relents, offers his hand back to Steph.

Steph's done with it though. Klay obviously doesn't want to disrupt his phone call, doesn't want to have to pause the conversation to say _Steph, stop_ or _Babe, don't._ But. If he really wanted peace and quiet, he'd just go to his office. There's something about Klay being on the phone, distracted by Steph but not distracted enough to draw his attention away from his agent and fucking _scheduling._

Steph cuts the TV off and slides off the sofa in one movement. In the next, he's on his knees, wedging his way between Klay's spread thighs.

He doesn't do anything, really. He props up on Klay's knees, elbows digging into the top of his legs, one hand folded up under his cheek. Klay looks down at him, pretty pink mouth open in a silent gasp. He looks shocked. Steph doesn't get it. It's not like he's doing anything.

It's not like he reaches forward to feel the expanse of Klay's thighs in his high cotton navy sleep plants. Or dances his fingers up his thighs until he's a finger’s width away from his crotch.

Klay's hand darts out quickly and wraps around Steph's wrist. It burns hot like brand. He locks eyes with Klay. That stupid phone is still pressed to his ear, the faint sound of his agent still yapping away. His eyes are bright, hyper-focused on Steph perched between his legs. Steph doesn't move an inch, just stares back at him, the picture of innocence.

Klay still doesn't say anything. He lets go of Steph's wrist slowly. It might bloom into a pretty little bruise. He doesn't take his eyes off of Steph.

So, he's watching when Steph continues his mission toward Klay's dick. He inhales a sharp breath when Steph squeezes where he's half-hard. The noise makes something in Steph preen, like he's being rewarded for doing something right.

He traces the outline of Klay’s dick through his sleep pants, stroking him into hardness. The heat of him, the weight in his hand, makes Steph's mouth water. God, he wants it so bad.

“Uh huh, yeah,” he hears Klay say into his flip phone. Fuck.

Klay is so hot. He's so hot. He's just going to keep talking on the phone while Steph paws at his dick. He wants him so bad he can't stand it. He leans forward and presses his face to his crotch, nuzzling at Klay's dick, feeling the shape of it through the cotton.

Steph's hard, too, but relieves some of the tension by pressing against the front of the sofa. He forgets about it when suddenly Klay's hand is in his hair. It's grown out enough this past month for Klay to get a good grip and pull him away from where he's drooling on his crotch.

Steph looks up, dazed, hard as nails, mouth watering for some dick.

Klay shakes his head at him, Steph thinks. He feels pins at his scalp from where Klay's holding on tightly. It makes his vision blur even more.

“I, uh, gotta go, man. Uh. Just send me--Yeah, that'll work. Yeah, bye, man.” Klay says into his phone, before he flips it closed.

Then all of his attention is on Steph. His grip hasn't loosened in Steph's hair, and it doesn't seem like it will. Is he going to speak to Steph now? Or is he too busy?

“Are you done?” Klay asks, voice stern. Like he's still on a business call, no time for bullshit. Steph whines low in his throat and tries to lean forward again.

“Ah, ah,” Klay tsks, holding onto Steph's hair still. “I asked you a question.”

Steph takes a deep breath, tries to focus past the pins and needles at his scalp, the desperation in his chest and mouth. “I heard you. I just didn't understand,” he counters.

“ _Brat,_ ” Klay chuckles darkly. “You're such a brat.”

Steph preens, a smile taking over his whole face. “A brat who's trying to suck your cock. Gonna let me?”

“‘ _Gonna let me?’_ ” Klay mocks, and finally releases his grip on Steph's hair. He leans back against the cushion, looking as nonchalant and relaxed as he's ever been. “Get to work then, Stephen.”

Hearing his full name, coming from the cocky mouth of the man he's, like, in love with does wonders for how quickly Steph does get to work.

He pulls both the sweatpants and boxers down at once. Klay is nice enough to raise up enough that Steph can pull them down around his knees. Very gentlemanly of him.

Klay's cock is hard and thick, glistening at the tip with precome. Steph's mouth waters every single time he gets to look at it. Something warm tightens in his chest, wraps itself around his heart. He never thought cock could make him feel so much. Maybe, though, it's just Klay. It's _Klay’s_ dick, it's anything about Klay, that makes his chest feel all funny with love.

He leans forward and very elegantly presses his face against Klay. He uses some of that drool gathering in his mouth to wet the length of him. He jerks him off with his hand and wraps his mouth around the head, dipping his tongue into his slit. The taste of him is heady and hot. He could stay here all day, mouth full of Klay, the “ah, ah, ah” sounds Klay makes as a soundtrack, the way Klay's hands flit along his head and shoulders as a grounding measure. He'd be set, then.

He takes Klay all the way down until his mouth meets his fist, getting him wet the way he likes so much. His dick is thick in Steph's mouth, grazing the back of his throat, choking his breath out of him. “Fuck,” Klay pants, reaching out to feel where Steph's mouth is stretched around him. The prodding of his fingers against the tight stretch of Steph's lips makes Steph moan pitifully around his cock.

“ _Baby,_ ” Klay says, sounding desperate. Steph redoubles his efforts, rubbing his tongue in tight circles just under the head, sucking him down to his base, drawing off and sucking on his slit, pressing his fingers roughly into the inner top of his left thigh at the same time.

“Fuck, fuck-- _God,_ ” Klay groans, and comes. His thighs tighten around Steph and automatically draw up. Steph swallows most of it, but pulls back in time to catch the last of it across a cheek and his mouth. He pumps Klay's dick a few more times, mouth open to catch any stray drops.

Come is dripping off his cheek; he can feel it make its way over the edge of his jaw and down his chin. He feels dirty and used and raw. He groans and wipes some of Klay’s come off his face. He reaches into his sweatpants and wraps his sticky hand around his aching dick. He whines pathetically and drops his head to Klay's thigh.

“Steph, baby,” Klay says, slowly coming back to himself. “C’mere.” Then he pulls Steph up onto his wobbly feet and situates him on his lap.

He takes Steph's dick in his hand and uses Steph's precome and his own come to slick him up and give him the best, quickest handjob of his life. He comes so quickly he'd been embarrassed if it were with anyone else.

“Aw,” Klay says, mean, and pulls Steph against him so he can tuck his face into the junction between Klay's neck and shoulder. He gets his own drying come on himself.

“You've got your own come on your neck, now, so fuck you,” Steph bitches. Except his face is smashed against Klay's warm skin, and nothing comes out coherently.

“Shhhh,” Klay soothes him, anyway. Apparently, he's just as content to sit there with their spent, wet dicks out, covered in each other's come.

Well, Steph's obviously not going to complain.

-

Or, there's the most embarrassing time that really made Steph do some reflecting:

They're professional athletes who have to maintain their workout routines whether they're out for the season or the season has been cancelled because of a pandemic. Either way, they get workouts in every day, and it's good for them physically AND mentally.

Well. Exercise _was_ good for him mentally. Then Klay went for a five-mile run _after_ they did their regular routine. Steph opted out because like. He'd rather not subject himself to leg cramps for the rest of the day. Unless they're sex related, of course.

So, Steph's at the kitchen island reading through emails and, having succumbed to the pitiful begging schtick, slipping bites of toast to Rocco, when Klay gets back from his run.

Rocco runs to the front door to greet his real dad, but Steph hangs back because he's not _that_ embarrassing or desperate. Plus, Klay's going to stop off in the half bath to sing the happy birthday song twice before he comes any further. Steph can wait.

And what a treat he receives for waiting. Klay walks into the kitchen literally _soaking_ wet with sweat. How hot is it outside? Did he wear five layers? No, Steph decides, looking him up and down, he's wearing those cute mid-thigh length shorts Steph loves so much and a loose white tank top that's. Jesus. Basically see-through because it's _drenched_ in sweat. Steph can see the pale pink of his pert nipples through the fabric. Oh, God.

“Hey,” Klay greets, stopping at the fridge to fill a glass with water. He downs it in six seconds flat. No, really, how hot is it outside?

“Hey,” Steph responds a full thirty seconds too late.

“You good, man?” He has the audacity to ask Steph something like that.

His arms and shoulders--his whole upper body--are slick with sweat. Shiny and red from all the exertion. Jeeeeesus. The sweat and the way the light hits it, like, accentuates the definition of his muscles. He's all corded muscle and solid core anyway, but he--his. His arms are so big. And his hands. Have his hands always looked like shovels?

Klay is just so fucking hot. Steph feels heated. Has it been this hot in the house all morning?

He chokes on his spit. “Uh,” he clears his throat. “Yes? Yes.”

Klay's eyebrows furrow like he isn't so sure he believes Steph. And for good reason! Steph is about to tackle him back against the kitchen island and rub his face all over him. Jesus, hell.

“Okaaaaaaay.” He scrunches up his nose, “gonna go shower this stink off.”

And Steph--he doesn't even think. “No, don't,” he blurts, and immediately turns red.

Klay stops, stares, and eventually smirks knowingly. “You want it so bad you can't even wait?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Am I just a piece of meat to you?”

Steph means to say “no” very intelligently, but with his arms crossed like that, it pushes his chest up and he looks broader than ever, so Steph promptly swallows his tongue.

“I _am_ ,” he teases, walking toward Steph. “Does my sweaty post-run look do it for you? I worked extra hard to work up a sweat for you,” he fucking _leers._

No he fucking did NOT! It just so happens that everything about him makes Steph want to fall face-first onto his dick and his stupid, sweaty post-run look apparently _isn't_ where Steph's own dick draws the line.

He's in Steph's space now, leaning against the island. He doesn't even stink like he suggested. He smells like clean sweat, the way he always does until it dries and takes a turn. Right now, though, he smells good. He smells like man and exertion and familiarity. Steph wants to press his face into his sweaty chest, but he can't be sure Klay won't laugh at him. Hey, maybe he _will_.

“You don't stink at all,” He says softly instead, glancing up at Klay. He only looks back knowingly, arms still crossed and sweat slowly drying.

“Wanna take a whiff just to be sure?” He laughs, a bright smile taking over his face. He's never really mean to Steph in a way Steph doesn't like, and he's open to whatever. Hell, he always ends up being just as into something as Steph is. So _what_ that Steph wants to rub his face on Klay's sweaty pits? That's really just so tame in comparison to everything else. He let Klay take what can only be called classy, amateur pictures of him sucking Klay's cock last week, put a filter on them, then watched Klay jerk off to them.

He sucks his teeth. “Maybe so.” With Klay standing so close, he can nudge Klay's arms out of the way, push his tank top to the side and rub a thumb over one of his nipples. It pebbles and hardens under his thumb within seconds. He draws back, wets his thumb, and reaches out to continue his ministrations.

Klay sucks in a harsh breath and sways more into his space, his eyes closed and mouth dropped open.

Hm. Should've known.

“Maybe you _did_ put in extra work for me, huh?” Steph taunts, raking his nails across Klay's pec.

“Oh, fuck off,” Klay bites, clearly feeling just as heady as Steph.

Steph laughs and pulls Klay into the space between his legs. He's at the perfect height to lean forward and sink his teeth into the sweaty, soft skin over his clavicle. Sweat pooled there on his run, and Steph can taste the salt of it. He pushes Klay's tank top down, draws his mouth across his chest, leaving marks over to his left clavicle.

“Steph,” Klay pants, suddenly not playing any type of game anymore.

“Yeah,” he sucks one more searing kiss to Klay's chest. “Yeah.” He gets up and pulls Klay back to the master bedroom.

He lays Klay out across the bed, his long body reaching from one end to the other. He pulled his tank top off along the way, so he's just in his short green shorts showing all those muscles and those strong, thick, hairy thighs.

Steph loses a bit more of his mind every time he gets to look at him like this. It's overwhelming, having every inch of him, of his mind, of his heart. His sweaty hair and his pink cheeks and his gasping breaths and his long fingers wrapped around the back of Steph's head when Steph dips down to lick a stripe up from his abdomen.

Steph feels feral; he wants to take Klay away, hide him away just for himself, crawl inside of him, and make a whole home. He nips at a nipple, sucking and biting at it until it's hard and red, and Klay's bucking up against him. He can feel Klay's hard cock press up against where Steph's hard too. It punches a breath out of him. He bares down, rutting against him through their shorts. It draws those breathy noises out of Klay that he loves so much.

He stops to refocus on leaving kisses across Klay's chest, biting at the meat of his tits, sucking a bruise on the inside of his arm, licking up his arm until he can bury his face under his arm. It's warm there, still damp with sweat and a trace smell of his deodorant. Steph feels bruised up, tender to the touch, as he nuzzles against Klay's armpit, breathing heavily against the damp hair there. It's heady and feels dirty--wrong, somehow, like he ought to be ashamed--but Klay keens when he licks at him, before making his way back to his nipple. 

He knows he's red all over, and he can feel his dick pulsing in his shorts, and he--he wants to crawl up in Klay where it's safe to be and feel and do whatever he wants. He wants to be surrounded by him--his arm around his shoulders, his smell on his t-shirt and his skin, his body opening for his tongue or his cock--he wants every intimate part of him.

Steph bruises Klay's right nipple before rubbing his face in Klay's other armpit, unabashed this time. He smells sweat and salt when he nuzzles against the hair there. Klay's arm circles his head abruptly, pushing him out of his space.

“Tickles, sorry,” he says around a laugh. Steph feels tears prickle at the corners of eyes. He just--he loves this guy so much. Mid armpit nuzzle, and unbeknownst to him, a minor, internal freakout for Steph, and he breaks the tension.

Klay's perceptive, so he cottons on. Steph is straddling him, so Klay has to lean up to cup the side of his face, but he does it tenderly. “Hey, you good?”

 _Thanks for letting me be me even if that means sniffing your pits, Jesus Christ_ , he wants to tell him, but he's afraid he may actually cry. Yikes. So, instead, he says, tearfully, “I just think you're really hot, is all.” Which is God's honest truth, too.

That punches a laugh out of him, and he falls back against the mattress. “Jesus, man,” he says, baffled, running his fingers through his sweaty hair. Hmph.

“Well, you asked.” Steph shrugs. They're both still hard, but it's a less pressing issue now.

“Will you shut up and get down here?” Klay asks him like he's dumb enough to do otherwise.

Steph leans over him again, stares at his big, beautiful face, and thinks, _Jesus, if I get to look at him every day for the rest of my life I'll be doing all right_ , but he doesn't say that, of course. He fucks his tongue into his mouth, hopes he can taste his own salty sweat on Steph's tongue, and rolls his hips against Klay's.

He puts his big hands on Steph's waist and guides him into a rhythm that works for both of them, but works quicker to push Steph closer to the edge. On top of Klay, he feels small and prized and important.

He pants against the side of Klay's mouth, “gonna make me come in my pants.” And the idea is--it's so hot. Klay laid out beneath him, rutting up against his cock, wet in his pants, both of them so desperate for it and too lazy to strip any further, shooting off in his pants.

“That's, uh,” Klay reaches behind Steph and slides his hand down the back of his shorts. He grips an ass cheek and slides his middle finger over his hole, and presses. “The idea,” he pants.

It feels like a stupid button Klay's pushed that makes him lose his mind, but the steady pressure of Klay's dick against his front and Klay's hand on his ass makes him come then, whiny and messy.

Klay slides Steph off of him and onto the bed. He curls up around Steph, who's splayed out, residual horniness radiating off of him. He's tired and fucked silly, but he still reaches out and presses a thumb to Klay's mouth to give him something to focus on while he jerks off. He sucks on Steph's thumb hotly, nipping at the soft pad of it when he finally comes all over his hand.

“Hey!” Steph bitches, pulling his thumb away from Klay's mouth to inspect it for damage.

Klay flops onto his back and rolls his eyes. “Drama queen, honestly.”

Once Steph rules out any catastrophic injury to his thumb, he rolls over atop Klay and settles against his chest. “Hmph.”

“You wear me out,” Klay mumbles, half teasing, but only half because he does yawn majorly after that.

“Yeah. Well.” Steph presses his nail into Klay's nipple to make him squeal. “You can't fall asleep just yet.” He trails a finger across Klay's pectoral. “You gotta shower. You stink.” He dips his fingers under his arm and tickles him. 

Klay nearly pushes him off their bed at that.

-

So, yeah, he's learned a lot in the past few weeks. He wants to jump his boyfriend every second of the day in new and exciting ways. And, also, he kind of wants to spend the rest of his life with him.

Just quarantine things, you know?

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think!
> 
> you can reblog [here](https://collarboen.tumblr.com/post/615687216563470336/sweet-gesture-of-your-hand-stephklay-5k-words). come chat with me [here](http://collarboen.tumblr.com)


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